Fuck the gazelles, I'm running solo

The Birth of Sog

It was a cold and starry night 33 years ago today, when a certain woman went into labor. Sylvia Brown had predicted it via a vision of a woman in a ravine underwater with a yellow house nearby. Uri Geller felt the signs as his spoons bent all by themselves, for real this time. Jonathan Edwards was told by his dead aunt that the rumors were true. God was going to be a father and it was happening that night. Motsog (Mother of the son of God) and God, rushed to the local hospital, which, in this village, it was no more than a stable except without all the cute animals.

She screamed and cried because we all know that childbirth is supposed to hurt. I think she was probably something of a wuss, because I hear childbirth doesn’t hurt all that much. Getting scratched on the foot by a cat hurts, but childbirth, I hear is a breeze.

Such a breeze in fact that this woman’s child, hereby known as the Sog (son of god), decided he actually liked it inside that deep warm cave and didn’t really want to come out. He was to turn out to be something of a wuss too, not wanting to “Take on the Day” in the real world, but to sleep and possibly suck his thumb forever.

However, being the Son of God, his place was here with the rest of mortals and the pleasant hospital staff, dirty fingers and all, used a suction device to pull out our reluctant Sog. Attached to his head, they turned on the device and the next thing you know, out he plopped.

Sog, pissed, wet and cold, demanded to talk to the man in charge using a number of various languages to no avail. The pleasant hospital staff was unfortunately not educated in the ancient languages Sog used to communicate and was thus rudely slapped down on a cold table, measured and cleaned, fingers and toes counted and decided he was a pretty healthy little thing if you didn’t count the now cone-shaped skull.

His mother and God decided he was good enough to take home. Not even the cone-shaped noggin could condemn Sog to the Spartan cliffs.

Years went by and Sog was loved and cherished, as was his due. When he’d do something wrong, his parents would cluck, concerned that their boy, Sog, was perhaps not as perfect as they had thought. However, they blamed themselves and gave him more love and devotion. Sog grew up knowing he was a SoG so therefore entitled to whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t kill people to get it. He also had a big penis. No mortal man could ask for more.

Sog grew up and became an adult. Like the Sog before him, he left his homeland to wander, learn and find promiscuous women in other cultures. He, like Sog I, productively worked with his hands.

Eventually he landed in Babylon by the Bay, a place of great temptation.

Here in BbtB, he met the counterpart to his newly found religion, capitalism. This particular promiscuous woman of a different culture (Pwoadc) had met many Sogs, and was not impressed. However, she liked his caboose and his company. So she stuck around for a while.

Eventually, it was time for him to return to his homeland, with the knowledge he had gained in his travels, and teach the uneducated massed about this thing called capitalism.

He asked Pwoadc to follow him and help him teach the poor kraut youth about this thing called capitalism and like all religious founders, to make money hawking his beliefs. He would offer her shelter, the protection of his name and all the sausage she could eat. Pwoadc decided this was the way of the righteous (not to mention her fondness for sausage) and followed. What a girl does for a nice caboose and the promise of sausage.

As of yet, there is no end to this story. Sog and Pwoadc are living well, if not happily together. In true partnership fashion, they are committed to furthering capitalism. He makes the money and she in turn negotiates to put it back into the economy. They have hung upon many of crosses (most of their own making), but as of yet have not needed to be resurrected. Sylvia Brown says that resurrection will be necessary in a couple of years and Uri Geller has not called back.

12 thoughts on “The Birth of Sog”

LOL! That’s a great story. I was about to have to object to the comments re: labor, but I will pass on it this time. Well, kind of. Please don’t say that in my presence. I might have to kill someone. LOL!